3  1822  01052  8321 


3  1822  01052  8321 


T 


HE    LITTLE    SHOE. 


,ITTLE      J*EET. 


,ITTLE     rOOTSTEPS. 


"Thy  days,  my  little  one,  were  few; 

An  angel'l  morning  vliit ; 
They  came  and  raniihcd  with  the  dew; 

Twai  here  —  'tla  gone  —  where  U  it  ? 
Tet  diJit  thoa  leave  behind  the* 
A  clue  for  lor*  to  find  the*."     *r 


BOSTON: 


Q-OTJLD 


59,    WASHINGTON     STREET. 
1867. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congreu,  in  the  year  1866,  by 

GOULD    AND    LINCOLN, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  DUtrict  Court  for  the  District  of  M.uischmetti. 


Printer*  and  Stereotype™,  liontou,  Hau. 


PBBFA.e 
<& 


OST  of  the  following  pieces  belong  to  the 
fractional  currency  of  literature,  yet  they 
have  a  golden  basis.  No  apology  can  be 
required  for  bringing  them  together,  any 
more  than  for  treasuring  up  the  mementos  of  our  little  one. 
Henry  Clay,  after  losing  a  young  child,  carried  one  of  its 
worsted  shoes  for  a  long  time  in  his  bosom.  Did  it  detract 
from  his  manliness  or  his  eloquence  ? 
The  little  shoe  is  peculiarly  a  representative  article  of  dress. 

It  has  more  expression  than  any  other,  is  more  nearly  a  part 

vn 


VIII  PREFACE. 

of  the  dear  child's  own  self.  It  brings  to  mind  all  the  joyous 
flutter  of  parental  hearts  when  the  little  one's  first  step  was 
taken,  and  all  the  keen  solicitude  about  a  fall  when  the  first 
short  journey  was  adventured.  What  music  in  those  foot- 
falls on  the  stairs,  and  behind  grandpapa's  chair !  But  when ; 
the  young  pilgrim's  feet  have  been  withdrawn  from  earth 
for  a  walk  in  Paradise,  what  tenderness  gathers  around1 
these  precious  relics !  The  more  worn  they  are,  the  dearer 
every  mark  is  a  line  of  beauty. 

Little  shoes,   suggesting  the  little  feet  that  wore  them,  anc 
the  little  footsteps  taken,  illustrate  what  Dr.  Chalmers  would 

Call    "THE    POWER  OF   LITTLES." 


I. 


THE  FIBST  LITTLE  PAIR, 15 

Two  PLUMP,  STUBBED  SHOES, 17 

SHOES  HID  A  WAT, 19 

NAE  SHOOK, 21 

SLIPPER-TIPS, 22 

UP  THE  STEEP  WAT, 84 

LITTLE  SHOES  REFORMERS, 25 

LITTLE  SHOES  AND  STOCKINGS, .27 

Two  LITILI  PAIRS  OF  Boon, 29 


X  CONTENTS. 

P^. 

TINT  BLUE  SHOES, 31 

Two  LITTLE  TRODDEN  SHOES, 33 

A  HALF-WORN  PAIR, 35 

THE  HALF-WORN  SHOE, 37 

THE  SHOE  SOILED  AND  TORN, 38 

THE  WORN-OUT  SHOE, 41 

WITH  KNOTTED  STRINGS, 43 

LITTLE  SHOES  EMPTT, 44 

LITTLE  GAITERS  IDLE,      .........  45 

LITTLE  PILGRIMS'  SANDALS, 47 

His  SANDALS  UNSOILED, 48 

HEAVENLY  SANDALS, 50 

LITTLE  BABY  SHOES, 51 

II. 

fitth  Jut. 

LITTLE  DANCING  FEET,        .        .    •    . 55 

DIMPLED  FEET,          .         .         ......         .         .        .  57 

Two  MORE  LITTLE  FEET, 58 

Two  TINY  FEET,      .   • 59 

MISSION  OF  LITTLE  FEET,    . 60 


CONTENTS.  XI 

F«*« 
FRISKING  FEET, 62 

RESTLESS  FEET, 64 

OH,  LITTLE  FEET, .65 

DEAR  LITTLE  FEET, 66 

UNPRACTICED  FEET, 67 

A  Row  OF  LITTLE  FEET, 69 

GUIDING  WAYWABD  FEET, 70 

WATCH  THE  LITTLE  FEET, 71 

PERT  BY  THE  SEA-SIDE, 72 

LITTLE  FEET  STILL,     .                 73 

PATTER,  PATTEB,  LITTLE  FEET, 74 

LITTLE  WANDERER'S  FEET, 75 

POOR  LITTLE  FEET, 77 

WITH  NIMBLE  FEET, 78 

THREE  PAIRS  OF  FEET, 79 

Music  OF  LITTLE  FEET, 81 

PATTER  OF  LITTLE  FEET, 82 

PATTERING  FEET  Now  STILL, 84 

VIOLETS  AT  HER  FEET, 86 

FEET  UPON  MY  KNEE, 88 

Fxrr  ON  THE  FENDER 89 

LITTLE  PILGRIMS'  FEET,       ....                         ...  91 


XII  CONTENTS. 


III. 


FIRST  FOOTSTEPS, 95 

GOING  ALONE, 96 

ON  HER  TOES, 98 

LEARNING  TO  WALK, 100 

DEAR  FOOTSTEPS, 101 

FAIRY  FOOTSTEPS, 102 

FOOTSTEPS  ON  THE  STAIRS, 104 

LITTLE  SHORT  STEPS, 105 

SILTERY  FOOTFALLS, 106 

THE  FOOTFALL  NOT  THERE, 109 

TREADING  THE  GOLDEN  STREETS,         .......  112 


•^ 


THE  FIRST  LITTLE 


very  daintj-  little  things, 

With  bow  and  buckle  bright  ; 
And  fitted  to  dear  little  feet 

So  soft  and  smooth  and  white  ; 
And  all  the  children  eager  rush 

To  tell  the  wondrous  news 
That  our  baby  has  short  clothes 

And  pretty  little  shoes. 

Why  is  it  that  my  timid  heart 

Is  full  of  anxious  fears, 
And  all  unconsciously  my  eyes 

Glisten  with  blinding  tears? 

16 


16  OUR     LITTLE     ONE. 

It  is  that  up  to  this,  my  babe 
Lay  on  a  loving  breast, 

To  which  he  ever  eager  turned 
For  nourishment  and  rest. 

But,  little  shoes,  ye  bid  me  think 

That  from  this  very  day 
I  send  another  pilgrim  forth 

Upon  life's  weary  way : 
Into  the  world  of  care  and  sin, 

Its  struggling  and  its  strife, 
Until  his  soul  with  Job  may  wish 

It  never  had  known  life. 

'Twas  just  two  years  ago  I  put 

On  Mary's  little  feet 
Such  shoes  as  these,  with  fond  caress, 

And  kisses  warm  and  sweet ; 
Things  just  as  fragile  as  these  are, 

And  not  a  bit  more  stout ; 
Yet  she  had  joined  the  angel  band 

Ere  they  were  quite  worn  out. 

Ah  !  many  a  mother's  bitter  tears 
On  little  shoes  are  shed,  — 

Relics  of  household  treasures  gone, 
Idols  among  the  dead ; 


THE     LITTLE     SHOE.  17 

Whether  this  babe  reach  man's  estate, 

Or  soon  his  course  be  run, 
I  only  ask  for  grace  to  say, 

"  Father,  thy  will  be  done." 


Two    PLUMP,     STUBBED     SHOES. 


WO  little  rough-worn,  stubbed  shoes, 
A  plump,  well-trodden  pair  ; 

With  striped  stockings  thrust  within, 
Lie  just  beside  my  chair. 


Of  very  homely  fabric  they,  — 

A  hole  is  in  each  toe  ; 
They  might  have  cost,  when  they  were  new, 

Some  fifty  cents,  or  so. 

Anil  yet,  this  little  worn-out  pair 

Is  richer  far  to  me, 
Tlian  .-ill  the  jr-wclled  sandals  are 

Of  Eastern  luxury. 
I 


18  OUn     LITTLE     ONE. 

This  mottled  leather,  cracked  with  use, 

Is  satin  in  my  sight ; 
These  little  tarnished  buttons  shine 

With  all  a  diamond's  light. 

Search  through  the  wardrobe  of  the  world,- 

You  shall  not  find  me  there 
So  rarely  made,  so  richly  wrought, 

So  glorious  a  pair. 

And  why  ?     Because  they  tell  of  her, 

Now  sound  asleep  above, 
Whose  form  is  morning  beauty, 

Whose  heai-t  is  beating  love. 

They  tell  me  of  her  merry  laugh, 
Her  rich,  whole-hearted  glee  ; 

Her  gentleness,  her  innocence, 
And  infant  purity. 

They  tell  me  that  her  wavering  steps 

Will  long  demand  my  aid  ; 
For  the  old  road  of  human  life 

Is  very  roughly  laid. 


THE     LITTLE     SHOE.  19 

High  hills  and  swift  descents  abound  ; 

And  on  so  rude  a  way, 
Feet  that  can  wear  these  coverings 

"Would  surely  go  astray. 

Sweet  little  girl !  be  mine  the  task 

Thy  feeble  steps  to  tend  ! 
To  be  thy  guide,  thy  counsellor, 

Thy  playmate  and  thy  friend  ! 

And  when  my  steps  shall  faltering  grow, 

And  thine  be  firm  and  strong, 
Thy  strength  shall  lead  my  tottering  age 

In  cheerful  peace  along. 


SHOES     ffio      AWAY. 

MRS.  JULIA  BKAKCII. 


Y  little  boy  lies  sleeping.     Stirlcss  now 

Are  the  bare  feet,  so  quick  and  restless  lately ; 

And  the  blue  eyes  bcm-atli  his  thoughtful  brow 
Arc  closed  sedately. 


20  OUR     LITTLE     OXE. 

One  hand  lies  hid  among  the  locks  that  float 
In  careless  grace  upon  the  yielding  pillows  ; 

The  other  on  his  breast  rides  like  a  boat 
On  summer  billows. 

About  the  couch  where  they  his  waking  bide 
His  whilom  playthings  lie  in  rare  confusion  ; 

And  underneath  the  shoes  he  thought  to  hide 
In  safe  seclusion. 

He  calmly  sleeps.  The  wind  moans  at  the  door, 
And  in  the  room  the  firelight's  fitful  gleaming 

Makes  pleasant  shadows  on  the  crimson  floor  :  — 
I  sit  a-dreaming. 

I  see  afar  the  vail'd  uncertain  land, 

That  in  the  future  waits  his  manhood's  coming  ; 
And  strive  to  dissipate,  with  love's  strong  hand, 

Its  mists  benumbing. 

And  is  he  of  that  race  of  laurel'd  kings, 
The  wearers  of  the  purple  of  the  poet? 

Or  like  the  heroes  whom  the  poet  sings  ? 
His  life  will  show  it. 


THE     LITTLE     SHOE.  21 

And  if  he  be  a  soul  from  falsehood  free, 

Though  he  should  wear  no  laurel,  sing  no  story, 

To  bear  his  part  with  honest  men  shall  be 
Enough  of  glory. 


NAE     SHOON. 


AE  shoon  to  hide  her  tiny  tae, 

Nae  stocking  on  her  feet, 
Her  supple  ankles  white  as  snaw, 
Like  early  blossoms  sweet. 


Her  simple  dress  of  sprinkled  pink, 
Her  double,  dimpled  chin, 

Her  puckered  lips  and  balmy  mou', 
"With  nae  one  tooth  between. 

Her  een  sac  like  her  mither's  een, 
Twa  gentle  liquid  things  ; 

Her  face  is  like  an  angel's  face,  — 
We're  glad  she  has  no  wings. 


22  OUn     LITTLE     ONE. 

She  is  the  budding  of  our  love, 
A  giftie  God  hae  gie'd  us  ; 

We  munna  love  the  gift  oVr  weel, 
'Twad  be  nae  blessing  thus. 


OLIPPER-  I  IPS. 


MES.  H.  C.  GARDNER. 

O,  my  lips  can  never  tell 

Half  the  comfort,  half  the  joy, 
Half  the  beauty  that  doth  dwell 

In  our  darling,  Baby  Floy. 
Such  a  tiny,  helpless  mite, 
Busy  only  with  her  play : 
Yet  her  presence,  like  the  light, 
Chases  all  our  clouds  away. 

When  the  closing  summer  day 
Lingers  with  its  growing  gloom, 

Peopling  with  its  shadows  gray 
Every  corner  of  the  room, 


THE     LITTLE     SHOE.  23 

Calling  from  the  misty  past 

Buried  hopes  and  joy  und  love, 
Till  the  soft  sky,  overcast, 

Frowns  upon  us  from  above — 

Then  she  comes,  the  roguish  sprite, 

Full  of  tricks  and  laughing  glee  ; 
Vanish  all  the  clouds  from  sight, 

And  the  heart  again  is  free. 
Cunning  witch !     Look  where  she  stands, 

Balanced  on  her  slipper-tips, 
Clasping  close  her  little  hand, 

Shutting  tight  her  rose-leaf  lips. 

There  is  mischief  in  her  eyes, 

Mischief,  but  she  charms  us  so  ; 
Music  in  the  strange  replies 

Made  of  words  she  doth  not  know  ; 
Grace  in  every  motion  sweet, 

Poetry  in  every  curl, 
Beauty  in  the  dancing  feet 

Of  our  happy  little  girl. 

Oft  I  marvel  whence  this  child 

Iluth  such  sweet  and  holy  power 
To  subdue  our  sorrows  wild, 

To  light  up  the  darksome  hour; 


24  OUR     LITTLE     ONE. 

How  so  weak  and  frail  a  thing 
Can  renew  the  fount  of  joy ; 

"Why  our  hopes  so  closely  cling 
To  our  darling,  Baby  Floy. 


UP   THE     STEEP   WAY. 


H !  little  feet  that  out  from  these 
Shall  step  up  life's  steep  way, 

The  Lord  uphold  thy  going  forth, 
And  "  strength  give  as  thy  day." 


Lead  this  young  soul  up  steadily 
The  strait  and  narrow  road  ; 

Then  shall  his  earthly  lot  be  peace, 
His  heavenly  portion  God. 

And  when  the  journey  ends  at  length 
Before  the  great  white  throne, 

He  shall  the  Saviour's  plaudit  hear, 
"  Oh,  child  beloved,  well  done  !  " 


THE     LITTLE     SHOE. 


ITTLE-DHOES      KEFORMERS. 


rOME  months  ago,  I  need  not  mention  where, 
There  was  a  meeting  in  a  Temperance  Hall, 
And  many  working  men  assembled  there. 

Among  them  sat  a  man  -well-dressed  and  tall, 
"Who  listened  anxiously  to  every  word, 

Until  one  near  spoke  to  him,  saying  thus  : 
"  Come,  "William  Turner,  I  have  never  heard 

How  that  you  changed  so  much  ;  so  tell  to  us 
Why  you  gave  up  the  public  house  ?    Ah !  few, 
I'm  sure,  can  tell  so  strange  a  tale  as  you." 

Up  rose  "William  at  the  summons, 
Glanced,  confusedly,  round  the  hall, 

Cried,  with  voice  of  deep  emotion, 
"  The  little  shoes — they  did  it  all ! 

"One  night,  on  the  verge  of  ruin, 

As  I  hurried  from  the  tap, 
I  beheld  the  landlord's  baby 
Sitting  in  it's  mother's  lap. 


26  OUR     LITTLE      ONE. 

" '  Look  here,  dear  father,'  said  the  mother, 

Holding  forth  the  little  feet, 
'  Look,  we've  got  new  shoes  for  darling ! 
Don't  you  think  them  nice  and  neat?' 

"Ye  may  judge  the  thing  was  simple  — 

Disbelieve  me  if  you  choose  — 
But,  my  friends,  no  fist  e'er  struck  me 
Such  a  blow  as  those  small  shoes. 

"  And  they  forced  my  brain  to  reason. 

'  What  right,'  said  I,  standing  there, 
*  Have  I  to  clothe  another's  children, 
And  to  let  my  own  go  bare  ? ' 

"  It  was  in  the  depth  of  winter ; 

Bitter  was  the  night  and  wild ; 
And  outside  the  flaring  gin-shop 
Stood  my  starving  wife  and  child. 

"Out  I  went  and  clutched  my  baby, 

Saw  its  feet  so  cold  and  blue  : 
Fathers !  if  the  small  shoes  smote  me, 
What  did  those  poor  bare  feet  do  ? 


THE     LITTLE     SJIOE. 

Quick  I  thrust  them  in  my  bosom  : 
Oh,  the}T  were  so  icy  chill ! 

And  their  coldness  like  a  dagger 
Pierced  me  —  I  can  feel  it  still. 

"  Of  money  I  had  but  a  trifle, 

Just  enough  to  serve  my  stead : 
It  bought  shoes  for  little  baby, 
And  a  single  loaf  of  bread. 

"  That  loaf  served  us  all  the  Sunday, 

And  I  went  to  work  next  day  ; 
Since  that  time  I've  been  teetotal : 
That  is  all  I've  got  to  say." 


27 


LITTLE    OHOES    AND     STOCKINGS. 


ITTLE  shoes  and  stockings  ! 

"What  a  tale  ye  speak, 
Of  the  swollen  eyelid, 

And  the  tear-wet  cheek ; 


OUR     LITTLE     ONE. 

Of  the  nightly  vigil, 
And  the  daily  prayer ; 

Of  the  buried  darling, 
Present  everywhere ! 

Brightly  plaided  stockings 

Of  the  finest  wool ; 
Rounded  feet  and  dainty, 

Each  a  stocking  full ; 
Tiny  shoes  of  crimson, 

Shoes  that  nevermore 
Will  awaken  echoes 

From  the  toy-strewn  floor, — 

Not  the  wealth  of  Indies, 

Could  your  worth  eclipse, 
Priceless  little  treasures, 

Pressed  to  whitened  lips 
As  the  mother  muses, 

From  the  world  apart, 
Leaning  on  the  arrow 

That  has  pierced  her  heart. 

Head  of  flaxen  ringlets, 
Eyes  of  heavenly  blue, 

Parted  mouth  —  a  rosebud  — 
Pearls  first  peeping  through  ; 


THE     LITTLE     SHOE. 

Soft  arms,  softly  twining 
Round  her  neck  at  eve : 

Little  shoes  and  stockings, 
These  the  dreams  ye  weave. 

"Weave  her  yet  another 

Of  the  world  of  bliss  ; 
Let  the  stricken  mother 

Turn  away  from  this. 
Bid  her  dream,  believing 

Little  feet  await, 
"Watching  for  her  passing 

Through  the  pearly  gate. 


29 


Two    LITTLE    PAIRS    OF    BOOTS. 


WO  little  pairs  of  boots,  to-night, 
Before  the  fire  are  drying  ; 

Two  little  pairs  of  tired  feet 
In  a  truncllc-bcd  arc  lying  : 

The  tracks  they  left  upon  the  floor 
Make  me  feel  like  sighing  ! 


80  OUR     LITTLE      ONE. 

Those  little  boots  with  copper  toes  ! 

They  run  the  livelong  day ; 
And  oftentimes  I  almost  wish 

That  they  were  miles  away, 
So  tired  am  I  to  hear  so  oft 

Their  heavy  tramp  at  play. 

They  walk  about  the  new-plowed  ground, 

"Where  mud  in  plenty  lies  ; 
They  roll  it  up  in  marbles  round ; 

They  bake  it  into  pies  ; 
And  then,  at  night,  upon  the  floor 

In  every  shape  it  dries  ! 

To-day  I  was  disposed  to  scold  ; 

But  when  I  look,  to-night, 
At  those  little  boots  before  the  fire, 

With  copper  toes  so  bright, 
I  think  how  sad  my  heart  would  be 

To  put  them  out  of  sight ; 

For  in  a  trunk  up-stairs  I've  laid 
Two  socks  of  white  and  blue : 

If  called  to  put  those  boots  away, 
Oh  God  !  what  should  I  do? 

I  mourn  that  there  are  not,  to-night, 
Three  pairs  instead  of  two. 


THE     LITTLE      SHOE.  31 

I  mourn  because  I  thought  how  nice 

My  neighbor  'cross  the  way 
Could  keep  her  carpets  all  the  year 

From  getting  worn  or  gray  ; 
Yet  well  I  know  she'd  smile  to  own 

Some  little  boots  to-day  ! 

"We  mothers  weary  get  and  worn 

Under  our  load  of  care  ; 
Yet  how  we  view  our  little  ones 

Let  each  of  us  beware  ; 
What  would  our  firesides  be  to-night, 

Were  little  boots  not  there  ? 


INY    BLUE    SHOES. 


II,  those  little,  those  little  blue  shoes  ; 
Those  shoes  that  no  little  feet  use  ! 
Oh,  the  price  were  high 
That  those  would  buy, 
Those  little  blue  unused  shoes  ! 


32  OUR     LITTLE     ONE. 

For  they  hold  the  small  shape  of  feet 
That  no  more  their  mother's  eyes  meet, 
That,  by  God's  good  will, 
Years  since  grew  still, 
And  ceased  from  their  totter  so  sweet. 


And  oh,  since  that  baby  slept, 
So  hushed,  how  the  mother  has  kept, 
"With  a  tearful  pleasure, 
That  dear  little  treasure, 
And  o'er  them  thought  and  wept ! 


For  they  'mind  her  for  evermore 

Of  a  patter  along  the  floor, 

And  blue  eyes  she  sees 
Look  up  from  her  knees, 

With  that  look  that  in  life  they  wore. 

As  they  lie  before  her  there, 
There  babbles  from  chair  to  chair 

A  sweet  little  f;ioe 

That's  a  gleam  in  the  place, 
With  its  little  golden  curls  of  hair. 


THE     LITTLE      SHOE.  33 

Then,  oh  wonder  not  that  her  heart 
From  all  else  would  rather  part 

Than  those  tiny  blue  shoes 

That  no  little  feet  use, 
And  whose  sight  makes  the  fond  tears  start. 


Two    LITTLE  TRODDEN    SHOES. 

E.     LYNN. 

little  busy  hands  patting  on  the  window  ; 
Two  laughing,  bright  eyes  looking  out  at  me  ; 
Two  rosy  cheeks  dented  with  a  dimple  : 
Mother-bird  is  coming ;  baby,  do  you  sec  ? 

Down  by  the  lilac-bush,  something  white  and  azure 
Saw  I  in  the  window  as  I  passed  the  tree ; 

Well  I  knew  the  apron  and  shoulder-knots  of  ribbon 
All  belonged  to  baby,  looking  out  for  me. 

Talking  low  and  tenderly 

To  myself,  as  mothers  will, 
Spoke  I  softly,  "  God  in  heaven, 

Keep  my  darling  free  from  ill : 


34  OUR     LITTLE      ONE. 

"Worldly  gain  and  worldly  honors 

Ask  I  not  for  her  from  thec  ; 
But  from  want  and  sin  and  sorrow 

Keep  her  ever  pure  and  free." 

Two  little  waxen  hands 

Folded  soft  and  silently  ; 
Two  little  curtained  eyes 

Looking  out  no  more  for  me  ; 
Two  little  snowy  cheeks, 

Dimple-dented  nevermore  ; 
Two  little  trodden  shoes 

That  will  never  touch  the  floor. 

Shoulder-ribbon,  softly  twisted ; 

Apron,  folded  clean  and  white  ; 
These  are  left  me,  and  these  only, 

Of  the  childish  presence  bright. 

Thus  he  sent  an  answer  to  my  earnest  praying, 

Thus  he  keeps  my  darling  free  from  earthly  stain, 
Thus  he  folds  the  pet  lamb  safe  from  earthly  straying  ; 

But  I  miss  her  sadly  from  the  window  pane  — 
Till  I  look  above  it ;  then,  with  purer  vision, 

Sad,  I  weep  no  more  the  lilac-bush  to  pass  ; 
For  I  see  her,  angel,  pure  and  white  and  sinless, 

"Walking  with  the  harper;;  by  the  sea  of  glass. 


THE     LITTLE      SHOE. 

Two  little  snowy  wings 

Softly  flutter  to  and  fro  ; 
Two  tiny,  childish  hands 

Beckon  still  to  me  below  ; 
Two  tender,  angel  eyes 

Watch  me  ever  earnestly  : 
Through  the  loopholes  of  the  stars 

Baby's  looking  out  for  me. 


NLY  four — just  four  short  years 

Since  she  came  to  me, 
Nestling  in  my  heart  and  arms, 

Oh,  so  tenderly ! 
Now  the  rain  falls  ou  her  grave, 

Sighing  wearily. 

Only  four — how  I  listened 

For  her  busy  feet, 
Pattering  softly  down  the  stair, 

"Papa  home"  to  meet : 
Never  to  a  mother's  heart 

Wr.s  a  sound  more  sweet. 


36  OUR     LITTLE     ONE. 

Only  four — my  precious  girl, 
With  her  honest  eyes 

Always  looking  into  mine 
With  a  sweet  surprise  ; 

Now  with  faded  autumn  leaves 
Little  Bessie  lies. 

Little  Bessie,  just  beginning, 

In  a  winsome  way, 
To  repeat  her  "  Now  I  lay  me," 

At  the  close  of  day  : 
Tears  come  faster  than  the  words 

When  I  kneel  to  pray. 

Only  these,  —  an  empty  crib, 

And  a  vacant  chair, 
With  a  half-worn  pair  of  shoes, 

And  a  curl  of  hair 
Golden  with  the  sunshine  falling 

On  her  head  so  fair. 

Only  these  are  left  me  now, 
And  the  house  is  still ; 

Everything  seems  asking  for  her  ; 
And  my  heart  so  chill 

Asks  for  Bessie,  never  thinking 
Of  our  Father's  will ; 


THE     LITTLE     SHOE.  37 

Quite  forgetting  that  the  angefo 

Took  her  home  to  God,  — 
Only  Bessie's  body  resting 

Under  the  brown  sod. 
Help  me  now  in  my  great  sorrow, 

Christ,  to  kiss  thy  rod ! 


THE    WALF-WORN     SHOE. 


HO  says  it  is  all  valueless, 

A  little  half- worn  shoe  ? 
Or  some  torn  garment,  just  replaced 

By  something  bright  or  new  ? 

There  is  a  secret,  sacred  place, 
Baptizod  by  tears  and  sighs, 

Where  little  half-worn  clothes  are  kept 
From  cold,  unfeeling  eyes. 

The  impress  of  a  little  foot, 

How  can  it  be  so  dear  ? 
How  can  a  little  half-worn  shoe 

Call  forth  a  sigh  or  tear  ? 


38  OUR     LITTLK     ONE. 

'Tis  more  than  dear — 'tis  eloquent 
Of  grace  and  beauty  fled  ; 

It  wakes  the  sound  of  little  feet, 
Sweet  sound  forever  fled. 

It  whispers  to  the  mother's  ear 
A  tale  of  fondest  love  ; 

It  tells  her  that  the  little  feet 
Now  tread  the  fields  above. 

Oft  has  she  bathed  it  with  her  tears, 
Oft  kissed  it  o'er  and  o'er ; 

If  it  were  filled  with  costly  gerns, 
She  could  not  prize  it  more. 


T 


HE    SHOE    SOILED  AND   TORN. 


NLY  a  picture — and  is  that  all? 
Only  a  picture  upon  the  wall  ? 
The  smile  so  beaming,  the  cheek  so  bright, 
The  eye  so  dancing  with  sunny  light, 


THE     LITTLK     SHOE.  39 

I  almost  fancy  my  baby  boy 
Is  springing  to  me  in  his  pride  and  joy  ; 
But  'tis  only  a  picture  upon  the  wall, 
A  silent  picture — and  that  is  all. 

Only  a  lock  of  silken  hair 
Lying  alone  in  its  casket  there  ! 
"Where  is  the  head  that,  in  sportive  glee, 
Was  wont  to  toss  it  so  careless  and  free  ? 
The  baby  head  that  upon  my  breast 
So  lovingly  nestled  each  night  to  rest  ? 
Only  a  lock  of  its  silken  hair 
Is  lying  alone  in  its  casket  there. 

Only  a  shoe  that  is  soiled  and  'torn ! 

But  where  is  the  foot  that  that  shoe  has  worn,  — 

The  darling  foot,  so  dimpled  and  small, 

That  made  music  so  merry  in. chamber  and  hall? 

Oh  !  to  catch  of  that  little  step  one  sound, 

How  wildly  now  would  my  pulses  bound  ! 

But  there's  only  a  shoe  that  is  soiled  and  torn ; 

The  foot  comes  no  more  that  that  shoe  has  worn. 

Only  these  relics  —  and  nothing  more  ? 
Can  naught  to  our  arms  the  lost  restore  ? 
Must  we  hopeless  yearn  as  the  years  go  by, 
For  the  bounding  step  and  the  beaming  eye? 


40  OUR     LITTLE     ONE. 

And  for  all  that  beauty,  life,  and  grace, 
So  fondly  cherished,  retain  no  trace 
Save  these  silent  relics?     Oh,  nevermore 
"Will  the  grave  to  our  arms  the  lost  restore  ! 

Oh,  woe  for  love,  when,  from  all  its  store, 
It  points  to  these  tokens,  and  nothing  more ! 
"When  the  vacant  hall  and  silent  stair 
But  echo  the  groans  of  its  wild  despair ;  • 
And  from  all  the  voices  in  earth  and  sky 
Comes  back  no  word  to  its  wailing  cry 
Save  the  mournful  echo,  "Oh,  nevermore 
"Will  the  grave  to  our  arms  the  lost  restore  ! " 

Oh,  joy  for  love,  when  it  yearns  no  more 
For  that  which  the  grave  cannot  restore  ! 
When  it  upward  stretches  its  drooping  wings, 
And,  in  darkness  and  sorrow,  still  sweetly  sings 
Of  the  brightness  and  bliss  of  that  better  home 
Where  the  lost  are  found,  and  no  partings  come. 
Oh,  joy  for  love,  when  its  priceless  store 
There  safely  is  garnered  for  evermore. 


I 


THE     LITTLE     SHOE.  41 


HE    WORN-OUT     SHOE. 


FOUND  it  here,  a  worn-out  shoe, 
All  mildewed  with  time,  and  wet  with  dew. 
'Tis  a  little  thing ;  ye  would  pass  it  by 
"With  never  a  thought  or  a  word  or  a  sigh  ; 
Yet  it  stirs  in  my  spirit  a  hidden  well, 
And,  in  eloquent  tones,  of  the  past  doth  tell. 


It  tells  of  a  little  fairy  child 
That  bound  my  heart  with  a  magic  wild  ; 
Of  bright  blue  eyes,  and  golden  hair, 
That  ever  shed  joy  and  sunlight  there  ;   • 
Of  a  prattling  voice  so  sweet  and  clear, 
And  the  tiny  feet  that  were  ever  near. 

It  tells  us  of  hopes  that  with  her  had  birth, 

Deep  buried  now  in  the  silent  earth  ; 

Of  the  heart  that  had  met  an  answering  tone, 

That  again  is  left  alone  —  alone ! 

Of  days  of  watching  and  anxious  prayer  ; 

Of  a  night  of  sorrow  and  dark  despair. 


42  OUR     LITTLE      OXE. 

It  tells  of  a  forfn  that  is  cold  and  still ; 
Of  a  little  mound  upon  yonder  hill, 
That  is  dearer  far  to  a  mother's  heart 
Than  the  classic  statues  of  Grecian  art ; 
Ah  !  strangers  may  pass  with  a  careless  air, 
Nor  dream  of  the  hopes  that  are  buried  there. 

Oh,  ye  who  have  never  o'er  loved  ones  wept, 
Whose  brightest  hopes  have  never  been  swept 
Like  the  pure  white  cloud  from  the  summer  sky, 
Like  the  wreath  of  mist  from  the  mountain  high, 
Like  the  rainbow  beaming  a  moment  here, 
Then  melting  away  to  its  native  sphere, 

Like  rose-leaves,  loosed  by  the  zephyr's  sigh, 
Like  the  zephyr  wafting  its  perfume  by, 
Like  the  wave  that  kisses,  some  graceful  spot, 
Then  passes  away,  yet  is  ne'er  forgot ! 
If,  like  these,  your  life-hopes  have  never  fled, 
Ye  cannot  know  of  the  tears  I  shed. 

Ye  cannot  know  what  a  little  thing 

From  memory's  silent  fount  can  bring 

The  voice  and  form  that  were  once  so  dear ; 

Yet  there  are  hearts,  were  they  only  here, 

That  could  feel  with  me,  when,  all  wet  with  dew, 

I  found  it  this  morning  —  this  little  shoe. 


.THE     LITTLE      SHOE.  43 


WITH    KNOTTED    STRINGS. 


1IKLKX   MAU. 


WO  little  shoes  with  knotted  strings 

With  tears  aside  were  laid, 
And  for  the  form  they  used  to  bear 

A  little  grave  was  made  — 
Made  for  our  baby-love,  our  pride  : 

We  murmured  at  its  fate, 
And  could  not  think  it  best  it  died, 

And  left  us  desolate  ; 
Grieving  because  small  feet  no  more 
Would  patter  soft  about  the  floor. 

Two  little  shoes,  tear-gemmed,  the  first 

In  which  my  precious  trod  ; 
For  the  small  feet  soon  tired  of  play, 

And  wandered  back  to  God. 
But  in  her  pure,  clear-sighted  eyes 

Heaven  was  not  very  far ; 
So  short  her  stay  from  Paradise, 

The  gate  was  still  ajar  : 
So  we  the  quiet  feet  undressed, 
And  laid  them  side  by  side  to  rest. 


44  OUR     LITTLE     O.V/f. 


SHOES 


bless  the  little  feet  that  never  go  astray, 
rFor  the  little  shoes  are,  empty,  in  in}-  closet  laid  away. 
Sometimes  I  take  one  in  my  hand,  forgetting,  'till  I 
see, 

It  is  a  little  half-worn  shoe,  not  large  enough  for  me  ; 
And  all  at  once  I  feel  a  sense  of  bitter  loss  and  pain, 
As  sharp  as  when,  two  years  ago,  it  cut  my  heart  in  twain. 

Oh,  little  feet  that  wearied  not !  I  wait  for  them  no  more, 
For  I  am  drifting  on  the  tide,  while  they  have  reached  the 

shore ; 
And  while  the  blinding  tear-drops  wet  these  little  shoes  so 

old, 

I  try  to  think  my  darlings'  feet  are  treading  streets  of  gold  ; 
And  so  I  lay  them  down  again,  but  always  turn  to  say, 
God  bless  the  little  feet  that  now,  so  surely,  cannot  stray  ! 

And  while  I  thus  am  standing,  I  almost  seem  to  see 
Two  little  forms  beside  me,  just  as  they  used  to  be  ; 


THE     LITTLE     SHOE.  45 

Two  little  faces  lifted,  with  their  sweet  and  tender  eyes,  — 
Ah  me  !  I  might  have  known  that  look  was  born  of  Para- 
dise ! 

I  reach  my  arms  out  fondly,  but  they  clasp  the  empty  air : 
There  is  nothing  of  my  darlings  but  the  shoes  they  used  to 
wear. 

Oh  !  the  bitterness  of  parting  cannot  be  done  away, 

Till  I  meet  my  darlings  walking  where  their  feet  can  never 

stray ; 

"When  I  no  more  am  drifted  upon  the  surging  tide, 
But  with  them  safely  landed  upon  the  river-side. 
Be  patient,  heart,  while  waiting  to  see  their  shining  way  ! 
For  the  little  feet  in  the  golden  street  can  never  go  astray. 


LITTLE   GAITERS  IDLE. 

J.  H.  MACNAUGHTON. 

,  the  wear}*,  solemn  silence 
Of  a  house  without  the  children  ! 
Oh,  the  strange,  oppressive  stillness 

Where  the  children  come  no  more  ! 


46  OUR     LITTLE     O  X  E . 

Ah  !  the  longing  of  the  sleepless 
For  the  soft  arms  of  the  children ; 
Ah  !  the  longing  for  their  faces 

Peeping  through  the  opening  door,  — 
Faces  gone  for  evermore  ! 

Strange  it  is  to  wake  at  midnight 
And  not  hear  the  children  breathing : 
Nothing  but  the  old  clock  ticking, 

Ticking,  ticking  by  the  door. 
Strange  to  see  the  little  dresses 
Hanging  up  there  all  the  morning  ; 
And  the  gaiters  —  ah  !  their  patter, 
"\Ve  will  hear  it  nevermore 
On  our  mirth-forsaken  floor  ! 

What  is  home  without  the  children  ? 
'Tis  the  earth  without  the  verdure, 
And  the  sky  without  the  sunshine  : 

Life  is  withered  to  the  core  ! 
So  we'll  leave  this  dreary  desert, 
And  we'll  follow  the  Good  Shepherd 
To  the  greener  pastures  vernal, 

Where  the  lambs  have  "  gone  before,' 
Y/ith  the  Shepherd  evermore  ! 


THE     LITTLE     SHOE.  47 

Oh,  the  weary,  solemn  silence 
Of  a  house  without  the  children  ! 
Oh,  the  strange  oppressive  stillness 

Where  the  children  come  no  more ! 
Ah  !  the  longing  of  the  sleepless 
For  the  soft  arms  of  the  children  ; 
Ah !  the  longing  for  their  faces 

Peeping  through  the  opening  door,  — 

Faces  gone  for  evermore ! 


ITTLE   PILGRIMS-    SANDALS. 


HE  way  to  heaven  is  narrow, 
And  its  blessed  entrance  strait ; 

But  how  safe  the  little  pilgrims 
Who  got  within  the  gate  ! 


The  sunbeams  of  the  morning 
Make  the  narrow  path  so  fair ; 

An  1  these  earl}'  little  pilgrims 
Find  dewy  blessings  there. 


48  OUn     LITTLE     OXE. 

They  pass  o'er  rugged  mountains, 
But  they  climb  them  with  a  song  ; 

For  these  early  little  pilgrims 
Have  sandals  new  and  strong. 

They  do  not  greatly  tremble 

When  the  shadows  night  foretell ; 

For  these  early  little  pilgrims 
Have  tried  the  path  so  well. 

They  know  it  leads  to  heaven, 
"With  its  bright  and  open  gates, 

Where  for  happy  little  pilgrims 
A  Saviour's  welcome  waits. 


is     SANDALS    UNSOILED. 

J.   K.  LOWELL. 


E  did  but  float  a  little  way 

Adown  the  stream  of  time, 
With  dream}'  eyes  watching  the  ripples  play, 
Or  listening  to  their  fairy  chime  ; 
His  slender  sail 
Ne'er  felt  the  gale. 


THE     LITTLE     SHOE.  49 

He  did  but  float  a  little  way, 

And,  putting  to  the  shore, 
"While  yet  'twas  early  day, 
Went  calmly  on  his  way, 

To  dwell  with  us  no  more  ; 
No  jarring  did  he  feel, 
No  grating  on  his  vessel's  keel ; 
A  strip  of  silver  sand 
Mingled  the  waters  with  the  land 

Where  he  was  seen  no  more  : 

Oh,  stern  word — Nevermore  ! 

Full  short  his  journey  was  ;  no  dust 

Of  earth  unto  Ms  sandals  clave  ; 
The  weary  weight  that  old  men  must, 

He  bore  not  \o  the  grave. 
He  seemed  a  cherub  who  had  lost  his  way 
And  wandered  hither,  so  his  stay 

With  us  was  short,  and  'twas  most  meet 
That  he  should  be  no  delver  in  earth's  clod, 

Nor  need  to  pause  and  cleanse  his  feet 
To  stand  before  his  God  : 

Oh,  blest  word  —  Evermore  ! 


OUR     LITTLE     ONE. 


•HEAVENLY     SANDALS. 

FRANK.  W.  BALLARI1. 


HE  is  not  dead, 

But  sleeps ; 
Beside  her  cradle-bed 

My  memory  keeps 
The  vigil  sad. 

Awake,  my  child, 

Awake ! 
'Tis  long  since  thoti  hast  smiled 

My  heart  will  break, 
Unless  beguiled ! 

No  voice  replies  ; 

Those  lips 
Naught  echo  to  my  cries : 

In  life's  eclipse 
She  silent  lies. 

That  brow  so  cold,  — 

Those  e}7es 
No  more  my  face  behold  : 

Alas !  she  lies 
Within  Death's  fold. 


THE     LITTLE     SHOE.  51 

She  dwells  with  God  : 

Her  feet, 
With  heavenly  sandals  shod, 

Traverse  the  street 
By  angels  trod. 

Then  let  her  sleep  ; 

Her  dreams 
Are  bliss.     Dear  Saviour,  keep 

Near  Eden's  streams 
The  lamb  we  weep. 


ITTLE    BABY     SHOES. 


NOTHER  little  form  asleep, 

And  a  spirit  gone  ; 
Another  little  voice  is  hushed, 

And  a  little  angel  born. 
Two  little  feet  are  on  the  way 

To  the  home  beyond  the  skies, 
And  our  hearts  are  like  the  void  that  comes 
When  a  strain  of  music  dies. 


52  OUR     LITTLE     ONE. 

A  pair  of  little  baby  shoes, 

And  a  lock  of  golden  hair  ; 
The  toy  our  little  darling  loved, 

And  the  dress  she  used  to  wear  ; 
The  little  grave  in  the  shady  nook, 

"Where  the  flowers  love  to  grow  ; 
And  these  are  all  of  the  hope 

That  came  three  years  ago. 

The  birds  will  sit  on  the  branch  above, 

And  sing  a  requiem 
To  the  beautiful  little  sleeping  form 

That  used  to  sing  to  them ; 
But  never  again  will  the  little  lips 

To  their  song  of  love  reply ; 
For  that  silvery  voice  is  blended  with 

The  minstrelsy  on  high. 


LITTLE    DANCING    FEET. 


MRS.  F.   I).   OAOE. 

ID  you  ever  see  our  baby,  — 

Little  Tot, — 

"With  her  eyes  so  sparkling  bright, 
And  her  skin  so  lily  white, 
Lips  and  cheeks  of  rosy  light? 

Tell  you  what, 
She  is  just  the  sweetest  bab}r 

In  the  lot. 

Ah  !  she  is  our  only  darling  ; 

And,  to  me, 

All  her  little  ways  are  witty  ; 
And  when  she  sings  her  little  ditty, 


56  OUR     LITTLE     ONE. 

Every  word  is  just  as  pretty 

As  can  be : 
Not  another  in  the  city 

Sweet  as  she. 

You  don't  think  so  ?  —  never  saw  her  ! 

Wish  you  could 

See  her  with  her  playthings  clattering, 
Hear  her  little  tongue  a-chattering, 
Little  dancing  feet  come  pattering  : 

Think  you  would 
Love  her  just  as  well  as  I  do  — 

If  you  could ! 

Every  grandma's  only  darling, 

I  suppose, 

Is  as  sweet  and  bright  a  blossom, 
Is  a  treasure  to  her  bosom, 
Is  as  cheering  and  endearing 

As  my  rose. 
Heavenly  Father,  spare  them  to  us 

Till  life's  close. 


LITTLE     FEET.  57 


DIMPLED    FEET. 


INSOME  Baby  Bunn ! 
*  Not  the  sea-shell's  palest  tinge, 

Not  the  daisy's  rose-white  fringe, 
Not  the  softest,  faintest  glow 
Of  the  sunset  on  the  snow, 
Is  more  beautiful  and  sweet 
Than  the  wee  pink  hands  and  feet 
Of  the  little  Baby  Bunn,  —  « 

Winsome  Baby  Bunn !  , 
Feet  like  these  may  lose  the  way, 
Wandering  blindly  from  the  right. 
Pray,  —  and  sometimes  will  your  prayers 
Be  to  him  like  golden  stairs 
Built  through  darkness  into  light. 
Oh,  the  dimpled  feet  of  Bunn, 
In  her  silken  stockings  dressed  ! 
Oh,  the  dainty  hands  of  Bunn, 
Hid  like  rose-leaves  in  your  breast ! 
These  will  grasp  at  jewels  rare 
But  to  find  the  empty  air ; 


58  OUR     LITTLE     ONE. 

Those  shall  falter  many  a  day, 
Bruised  and  bleeding  by  the  way, 
Ere  they  reach  the  land  of  rest ! 
Praj',  mother,  pray ! 


Two     MORE    LITTLE    FEET. 


NOTHER  little  wave 
Upon  the  sea  of  life  ; 

Another  soul  to  save  ; 
Ainicl  the  toil  and  strife. 


Two  more  little  feet 

To  walk  the  dusty  road, 

To  choose  where  two  paths  meet, 
The  narrow  and  the  broad. 


Two  more  little  hands 
To  work  for  good  or  ill ; 

Two  more  little  eyes  ; 
Another  little  will. 


LITTLE      FEET,  59 

Another  heart  to  love, 

Receiving  love  again : 
And  so  the  baby  came, 

A  thing  of  joy  and  pain. 


Two    TINY    FEET. 


C.    K.   SARGENT. 


i  WO  little  bright  blue  eyes 

Looking  into  mine ; 
Two  little  dimpled  arms 

Round  my  neck  do  twine ; 
Two  little  ruby  lips 

Close  to  mine  are  pressed  ; 
Dear  little  baby  form 
Clasped  unto  my  breast ! 

Two  little  tiny  feet, 

Now  away  they  run  ; 
Curls  of  little  golden  thread 

Glisten  in  the  sun  ; 


60  OUR     LITTLE      ONE. 

Happy  days  of  childhood, 
Free  from  care  or  strife  : 

May  God's  brightest  sunlight 
Shine  through  baby's  life  ! 

Precious  tiny  fairy, 

Sent  me  from  above  ; 
Queen  within  the  castle 

Of  mother's  heart  of  love  ! 
Oh,  my  little  treasure  ! 

Of  myself  a  part : 
Baby's  throne,  and  what  she  rules, 

Is  her  mother's  heart. 


MISSION    OF    LITTLE    FEET. 

r 

DREARY  place  would  be  this  earth 

"Were  there  no  little  people  in  it ; 
The  song  of  life  would  lose  its  mirth     < 

"Were  there  no  children  to  begin  it: 

No  little  forms  like  buds  to  grow, 

And  make  the  admiring  heart  surrender  ; 

No  little  hands  on  breast  and  brow 

To  keep  the  thrilling  love-cords  tender  ; 


LITTLE      FEET.  61 

No  babe  within  our  arms  to  leap  ; 

No  little  feet  towards  slumber  tending ; 
No  little  knee  in  prayer  to  bend, 

Our  lips  to  theirs  the  sweet  words  lending. 

What  would  the  ladies  do  for  work 

"Were  there  no  pants  or  jackets  tearing ; 
No  tiny  dresses  to  embroider ; 

• 

No  cradle  for  their  watchful  caring  ; 

No  rosy  boys,  at  wintry  morn, 

With  satchel  to  the  school-house  hasting  ; 
No  merry  shouts  as  home  they  rush  ; 

No  precious  morsel  for  their  tasting  ? 

• 

Tall,  grave,  grown  people  at  the  door  ; 

Tall,  grave,  grown  people  at  the  table  ; 
The  men  on  business  all  intent, 

The  dames  lugubrious  as  they're  able. 

The  sterner  souls  would  get  more  stern, 

Unfeeling  natures  more  inhuman  ; 
And  men  to  stoic  coldness  turn, 

And  woman  would  be  less  than  woman. 


C2  OUR     LITTLE      ONE. 

Life's  song  indeed  would  lose  its  cnarm 
Were  there  no  babies  to  begin  it ; 

A  doleful  place  this  world  would  be 
Were  there  no  little  people  in  it. 


FRISKING 


JOANNA     BAILLIE. 


HOSE  imp  art  thou,  with  dimpled  check, 
And  curly  pate,  and  merry  eye, 

And  arm  and  shoulder  round  and  sleek 
And  soft  and  fair,  thou  urchin  sly  ? 


What  boots  it  who,  with  sweet  caresses, 
First  called  thee  his,  —  or  squire  or  hind,- 

Since  thou»in  every  wight  that  passes 
Dost  now  a  friendly  playmate  find  ? 

Thy  downcast  glances,  grave  but  cunning, 
As  fringed  eyelids  rise  and  fall ; 

Thy  shyness,  swiftly  from  me  running, 
Is  infantine  coquetry  all. 


LITTLE      FEET.  63 

But  far  afield  thou  hast  not  flown  ; 

With  mocks  and  threats,  half  lisped,  half  spoken, 
I  feel  thee  pulling  at  my  gown, 

Of  right  good-will  thy  simple  token. 

And  thou^must  laugh  and  wrestle  too, 

A  mimic  warfare  with  me  waging, 
To  make,  as  wily  lovers  do, 

Thy  after-kindness  more  engaging. 

The  wilding  rose,  sweet  as  thyself, 

And  new-cropt  daisies  are  thy  treasure  ; 

I'd  gladly  part  with  worldly  pelf 

To  taste  again  thy  youthful  pleasure. 

But  yet,  for  all  thy  merry  look, 

Thy  frisks  and  wiles,  the  time  is  coming 

When  thou  shalt  sit  in  cheerless  nook, 
The  weary  spell  or  horn-book  thumbing. 

Well,  let  it  be  ;  —  through  weal  and  woe 
Thou  know'st  not  now  thy  future  range  ; 

Life  is  a  motley,  shifting  show, 

And  thou  a  thing  of  hope  and  change 


64  OUR     LITTLE     ONE. 


RESTLESS     FEET. 

MRS.  FAXNIE   POWER. 


LEESOME,  blithesome,  bonnie  boy  ! 

Precious  household  treasure ! 
Lightly  trip  thy  restless  feet 

To  a  joyful  measure  ; 
Thrills  thy  happy  little  heart 

With  exultant  pleasure. 

All  day  long  thy  silvery  voice 

Like  a  streamlet  flows  ; 
Through  the  hours,  at  twilight  dim, 

Cradled  for  repose, 
The  blue-veiled,  drooping  eyelids, 

Sealed  with  kisses,  close. 

Sheltered  in  the  fond  embrace 

Of  a  mother's  arms, 
Naught  cares  he  for  night  or  shadow  ; 

Storms  bring  no  alarms : 
Well  he  knoweth  who  will  keep  him 

Safe  from  ills  or  harms. 


LITTLE     FEET.  65 

"Would  I  had  thy  faith,  my  darliiig, 

When,  with  care  oppressed, 
Weary,  faint,  to  lay  my  head 

On  His  loving  breast ; 
To  seek  my  refuge  in  the  arms 

Of  everlasting  Ilest. 

Oh  !  to  cling,  as  thou  art  clinging, 

When  the  shadows  deep 
Silently  around  my  pathway, 

Like  weird  phantoms,  creep, 
Closer  to  the  Heart  which  "  giveth 

His  beloved  sleep." 


t 


ITTLE      h  EET 


H,  little  feet,  that  such  long  years 
Must  wander  on  through  doubts  and  fears, 
Must  ache  and  bleed  beneath  your  load  ! 
I,  nearer  to  the  wayside  inn 
Where  toil  shall  cease  and  rest  begin, 

Am  wear}',  thinking  of  your  road. 
0 


GG  OUR     LITTLJS     ONE. 

Oh,  little  hands,  that,  weak  or  strong, 
Have  still  to  serve  or  rule  so  long, 

Have  still  so  long  to  give  or  ask  ! 
I,  who  so  much,  with  book  and  pen, 
Have  toiled  among  my  fellow-men, 

Am  weary,  thinking  of  your  task. 

Oh,  little  hearts,  that  throb  and  beat 
With  such  impatient,  feverish  heat, 

Such  limitless  and  strong  desires  ! 
Mine,  that  so  long  has  glowed  and  burned 
With  passions  into  ashes  turned, 

Now  covers  and  conceals  its  fires. 


EAR    LITTLE    FEET. 

EMILY  HUNTIJfGTON  MILLEK. 


HAT  are  you  good  for,  my  brave  little  man  ? 
Answer  that  question  for  me,  if  you  can,  — 
You,  with  your  fingers  as  white  as  a  nun, 
You,  with  your  ringlets  as  bright  as  the  sun. 


LITTLK     FKKT. 

All  the  day  long,  with  your  busy  contriving, 
Into  all  mischief  and  fun  you  are  driving  ; 
See  if  your  wise  little  noddle  can  tell, 
What  are  you  good  for  ?  now  ponder  it  well." 

Over  the  carpet,  the  dear  little  feet 
Came  with  a  patter  to  climb  on  my  seat ; 
Two  merry  eyes,  full  of  frolic  and  glee, 
Under  their  lashes  looked  up  unto  me  ; 
Two  little  hands,  pressing  sort  on  my  face, 
Drew  mo  down  close  in  a  loving  embrace  ; 
Two  rosy  lips  gave  the  answer  so  true,  — 
"Good  to  love  you,  mamma  —  good  to  love  you." 


NPRACTICED    -pEET. 


S.  T.  COLBBinOK, 


cease  thy  tears  and  sobs,  my  little  life  ! 
did  but  snatch  away  the  unclasped  knife 
>mc  safer  toy  will  soon  arrest  thine  eye, 
And  to  quick  laughter  change  this  peevish  cry. 


C8  ou R    LIT •!' L  ::    o ,v K. 

Poor  stumbler  on  the  rocky  coast  of  woe, 

Tutor'd  by  pain  each  source  of  pain  to  know ! 

Alike  the  foodful  fruit  and  scorching  fire 

Awake  thy  eager  grasp  and  young  desire  ; 

Alike  the  good,  the  ill,  offend  thy  sight, 

And  rouse  the  stormy  sense  of  shrill  affright : 

Untaught,  yet  wise  !  'mid  all  thy  brief  alarms 

Thou  closely  clingest  to  thy  mother's  arms, 

Nestling  thy  little  face  in  that  fond  breast 

"WTiose  anxious  hearings  lull  thee  to  thy  rest. 

Man's  breathing  miniature  !    thou  mak'st  me  sigh  ; 

A  babe  art  thou,  and  such  a  thing  am  I : 

To  anger  rapid,  and  as  soon  appeased  ; 

For  trifles  mourning  and  for  trifles  pleased  ; 

Break  Friendship's  mirror  with  a  techy  blow, 

Yet  snatch  what  coals  of  fire  on  Pleasure's  altar  glow. 

Oh  thou  that  rearest  with  celestial  aim 

The  future  Seraph  in  my  mortal  frame, 

Thrice  holy  Faith  !  whatever  thorns  I  meet 

As  on  I  totter  with  unpractised  feet, 

Still  let  me  stretch  my  arms  and  cling  to  thee, 

Meek  nurse  of  souls  through  their  long  infancy  ! 


LITTLE      FKKT. 


Row    OF    LITTLE    FEET. 


V 

% 

I 


ROW  of  little  faces  by  the  bed, 
A  row  of  little  hands  upon  the  spread, 
A  row  of  little  roguish  C}'es  all  closed, 
A  row  of  little  naked  feet  exposed ! 


A  gentle  mother  leads  them  in  their  praise, 
Teaching  their  feet  to  tread  in  heavenly  ways  ; 
And  takes  this  lull  in  childhood's  tiny  tide 
The  little  errors  of  the  day  to  chide". 

No  lovelier  sight  this  side  of  heaven  is  seen, 
And  angels  hover  o'er  the  group  serene  ; 

* 

Instead  of  odor  in  a  censer  swung, 

There  floats  the  fragrance  of  an  infant's  tongue. 

Then,  tumbling  headlong  into  waiting  beds, 
Beneath  the  sheet  they  hide  their  timid  heads, 
Till  slumber  steals  away  their  idle  fears, 
And  like  a  peeping  bud  each  face  appears. 


70  O  L'Jl     LITTLE      O.V/:. 

All  dressed  like  angels  in  their  gowiw  of  white, 
They're  wafted  to  the  skies  in  dreams  of  night ; 
And  heaven  will  sparkle  i:i  their  eyes  at  inorn, 
And  stolen  graces  all  their  ways  adorn. 


GUIDING    WAYWARD    FEET. 


not  for  grand  endeavor 
"Worthy  a  martyr's  meed, 
"While  in  vain  the  Master  proffers 

The  trust,  his  lambs  to  feed. 
It  ma}'  be  thy  share  of  service 

His  purpose  to  complete, 
If  steadfastly  thou  guidest 
Those  little  wayward  feet. 

* 

One  little  footstep  passing 

The  path  that  Jesus  trod  ; 
One  little  spirit  resting 

In  loving  faith  on  God  ; 
One  little  life  more  earnest, 

More  hopeful,  and  more  pure,  — 
And  in  an  angel's  record 

Thy  lifework  shall  endure. 


LITTLE     FEET.  71 


WATCH    THE    LITTLE    FEET. 


OTHER !  watch  the  little  feet 

Climbing  o'er  the  garden  wall, 
Bounding  through"  the  busy  street, 
Ranging  cellar,  shed,  and  hall ; 
Never  count  the  moments  lost, 
Never  mind  the  time  it  cost : 
Little  feet  will  go  astray ; 
Guide  them,  mother,  while  you  may. 

Mother !  watch  the  little  hand 
Picking  berries  by  the  way, 

Making  houses  in  the  sand, 
Tossing  up  the  fragrant  hay ; 

Never  dare  the  question  ask, 
'TVhy  to  me  this  weary  task?" 

These  same  messengers  may  prove 
Messengers  of  light  and  love. 

Mother  !  watch  the  little  tongue 
Prating,  eloquent  and  wild, 

What  is  said  and  what  is  sung 
By  the  happy,  joyous  child  ; 


72  OUR     LITTLE     OXE. 

Catch  the  wofd  while  yet  unspoken, 
Stop  the  vow  before  'tis  broken  : 
This  same  tongue  may  yet  proclaim 
Blessings  in  the  Saviour's  name. 

Mother  !  watch  the  little  heart 

Beating  soft  and  warm  for  you  ; 
Wholesome  lessons  now  impart ; 

Keep,  oh  keep  that  young  heart  true, 
Extricating  every  weed, 
Sowing  good  and  precious  seed  : 

Harvest  rich  you  thus  may  see 

Eipening  for  eternity. 


FEET    BY  THE     SEA-SIDE. 


GEORGK  CKABBE. 


ND  now  the}*  walk  upon  the  sea-side  sand, 
Counting  the  number,  and  what  kind  they  be, 
Ships  softly  sinking  in  the  sleepy  sea. 
Now  arm-in-arm,  now  parted,  they  behold 
The  glittering  waters  on  the  shingles  rolled. 


LITTLE      FKKT.  73 

The  timid  girls,  half-dreading  their  design, 
Dip  the  small  foot  in  the  retarded  brine 
And  search  for  crimson  weeds,  which,  spreading,  flow, 
Or  lie  like  pictures  on  the  sand  below, 
With  all  those  bright  red  pebbles,  that  the  sun 
Through  the  small  waves  so  softly  shines  upon ; 
And  those  live-lucid  jellies  which  the  eye 
Delights  to  trace  as  they  swim  glittering  by  : 
Pearl-shells  and  rubied  star-fish  they  admire, 
And  will  arrange  above  the  parlor  fire,  — 
Tokens  of  bliss ! 


ITTLE    FEET    STILL. 


JULIK   LEONARD. 


ITTLE  stars  are  shining 
In  'the  evening  sky  ; 

Little  hearts  are  praying 
To  the  God  on  high  ; 


Little  tongues  are  saying 
Holy  songs  of  praise, 

Seeking  to  be  strengthened 
In  all  holy  ways. 


74  OUR     LITTLE      OXE. 

Little  hands  are  folded 
Meekly  on  each  breast, 

Asking  for  a  blessing 
Ere  they  go  to  rest. 

Little  eyes  are  sleeping, 
Little  feet  are  still ; 

But  God's  angels  watch  o'er  all 
"Who  have  done  his  will. 


PATTER,  PATTER,  LITTLE  FEET. 


ITTLE  feet,  so  glad  and  gay, 
Making  music  all  the  day  ; 
Tripping  merrily  along, 
Filling  all  my  heart  with  song  ; 
Well  I  love  3rour  music  sweet : 
Patter,  patter,  little  feet. 

Sometimes  anxious,  I  would  know 
Just  what  way  these  feet  must  go  ; 


LITTLE      FEET. 

Praying  oft  that  all  be  fair, 

No  thorns,  no  roughness  anywhere  ; 

That  flowers  may  spring  their  steps  to  greet 

Patter,  patter,  little  feet. 

But  then  I  think  that  some  have  trod 
Through  thorns  and  briers  the  nearer  God  ; 
Though  weak  in  faith,  still  I  would  dare 
To  offer  up  the  earnest  prayer 
That  Christ  would  choose  whate'er  is  meet : 
Patter,  patter,  little  feet. 

I  press  them  in  my  hands  to-night, 
And  kiss  them  with  a  new  delight, 
Believing  that,  where'er  they  go, 
My  tender  Lord  will  lead  them  so 
They'll  walk,  at  length,  the  golden  street : 
Patter,  patter,  little  feet. 


ITTLE    WANDERER'S    FEET. 


weary,  restless  feet 
Pattering  through  the  dusty  street, 
Wandering  daily  up  and  down 
Through  the  wide  and  desert  town  ; 


76  oujtLirr  L  i:    o  .v  /•:. 

All  the  long,  slow-dropping  hours, 
Never  once  have  tro;l  oa  (lowers  ; 
Never  daisy  in  the  grass 
Smiles  to  greet  you  as  you  pass  ! 

Little  fingers,  blue  and  cold, 

Peeping  from  j'our  mantle  old  ! 

What !  never  picked  a  buttercup, 

Nor  held  a  dewy  rose-bud  up, 

Nor  plucked  wild  flowers,  'mid  summer  air, 

To  twine  amid  the  curling  hair 

That  hangs  with  tangled,  careless  grace 

Around  that  wild  and  elfin  face  ! 

Eyes  too  large  and  deep  and  wild 
For  a  happy,  careless  child  : 
Oft  3Tour  lids  with  tears  are  wet ; 
Strange,  sad  sights  your  gaze  have  met ; 
Want  and  woe  and  pain  and  sin, 
All,  to  you,  familiar  been  ; 
But  ne'er  yet,  in  grove  or  bower, 
Dawned  on  your  sight  a  little  flower ! 

Little  heart,  so  wild  and  shy, 
Trembling,  beating  fast  and  high, 
Thou,  too,  doubtless,  hast  a  part  — 
Little  wild-flower  that  thou  art  — 


LITTLE       FEET.  77 

In  the  tender  Gardener's  care, 
Whose  sweet  buds  the  children  are  ; 
Who  his  sweetness  garners  up 
In  the  child's  heart  and  lily's  cup. 


POOR    LITTLE    FEET. 


OOR  little  feet  on  the  pavement  bare  ; 
Sad  little  face  grown  hardened  with  care  ; 
Scanty  the  clothing  around  the  wee  form 
Searching  for  bread  in  this  pitiless  storm  ! 


Coldly  we  speak  to  the  wandering  thing, 
Scarring  the  tender  young  heart  by  our  sting,  — 
Poor  little  heart  that  is  yearning  to  be 
Caressed  like  the  darling  clinging  to  me. 

Think  ye,  when  Jesus  was  here  among  men, 
And  he  took  up  the  little  ones  brought  to  him  then, 
And  blessed  them  with  love  far  better  than  gold, 
The  poor  nnd  the  homeless  did  he  not  enfold? 


78  OUR      LITTLK      ONE. 

Ah,  poor  little  child  !  unloved  but  by  him, 

Good  angels  defend  thee,  —  Christ  shrive  us  our  sin,- 

Far  better  for  us,  than  add  sorrow  to  thee, 

To  be  helplessly  cast  in  the  niidst  of  the  sea. 


ITH    NIMBLE  FEET. 


EARKEN,  little  one ! 
?  Lo  !  a  voice  is  calling  thee 

From  the  blue  of  morning  skies  ; 
Hear  it,  and  the  glory  see 
Beaming  for  thy  lifted  eyes. 

Courage,  little  one ! 
Not  a  tear  thine  eyes  should  dim, 

Not  a  fear  give  wild  alarms  ; 
Jesus  bids  you  come  to  him  ; 

Now  he  waits  with  open  arms. 

Hasten,  little  one ! 
Run  to  him  with  nimble  feet, 

Go,  and  fsel  his  soft  caress  ; 
Warm  the  welcome  thou  shalt  meet ; 

See  !  he  lifts  his  hands  to  bless. 


LITTLK     FEET.  79 

Trust  him,  little  one  ! 
lie  will  never  leave  his  own, 

Never  let  them  suffer  harm ; 
All  the  way  to  him  is  known ; 

Strong  is  his  encircling  arm ! 

Love  him,  little  one  ! 
lie  will  fold  thee  to  his  breast, 

Love  thee  with  a  tender  love ; 
He  will  give  thee  blissful  rest 

In  his  shiuincj  homo  above. 


I 


HREE    PAIRS    OF    -FEET. 


—  • 

HREE  little  forms,  in  the  twilight  gray, 
Scanning  the  shadows  across  the  way  ; 
Six  little  eyes,  four  black  and  two  blue, 
Brimful  of  love  and  happiness  too, 
Watching  for  'pa. 


May,  with  her  placid  and  thoughtful  brow, 
Gentle  face  beaming  with  smiles  just  now  ; 
Willie,  the  rogue,  so  loving  and  gay, 
Stealing  sly  kisses  from  sister  May,  — 
Watching  for  'pa. 


80  OUR     LITTLE      OXE. 

Nelly,  Mrith  ringlets  of  sunny  hue, 
Cosily  nestled  between  the  two, 
Pressing  her  eheek  to  the  window-pane, 
Wishing  the  absent-one  home  again,  — 
Watching  for  'pa. 

Oh,  how  they  gaze  at  the  passers-by  ! 
"  He's  coming  at  last !  "  they  gayly  cry  ; 
"  Try  again,  my  pets  !  "  exclaims  mamma  ; 
And  Nellie  adds,  "  There's  the  twilight  star 
Watching  for  'pa." 

Jack  nods  and  smiles,  as,  with  bus}r  feet, 
He  lights  the  lamps  of  their  quiet  street ; 
That  sweet  little  group  he  knows  full  well,  — 
May  and  Willie,  with  golden-haired  Nell,  — 
Watching  for  'pa. 

Soon  joyous  shouts  from  the  window-seat, 
And  eager  patter  of  childish  feet, 
Gay  musical  chimes  ring  through  the  hall ! 
A  manly  voice  responds  to  the  call, 
"  WELCOME,  PAPA." 


LITTLE     FEET.  81 


Music    OF    LITTLE    FEET. 

ASHTON    CURRIER. 

HERE'S  a  musical  sound, 
gj^  I  hear  it  oft, 

Low  and  soft, 
Following  me  around. 

Is't  the  rain 

On  the  pane, 
Or  dropping  on  the  ground, 

That  I  hear 

Low  and  near  ? 
Ah,  no — far,  far  more  sweet ! 

Here  and  there, 

On  the  stair, 
Comes  the  sound  of  little  feet ; 

'Mid  the  gloom 

Of  my  room, 
Cheerily  my  ear  they  greet. 

Bonnie  Annie  ! 

Sweet  and  canny  ! 
Pooping  in  with  sunny  face, 

Opes  the  door, 

Walks  the  floor, 


82  OUR     LITTLE     ON  E. 

In  her  most  unconscious  grace  ; 

"While  her  feet 

Music  sweet 

Echoing  send  throughout  the  place. 
So  her  footsteps  once  did  fall, 

Patter,  patter, 

"With  sweet  clatter, 
Through  the  house  and  through  the  hall ; 

Till,  one  day, 

She  went  away 
To  be  laid  beneath  the  sod  ; 

But  her  feet 

Made  music  sweet 
Up  the  shining  way  to  God. 


PATTER    OF    LITTLE    FEET. 

MRS.  GEN.  LEWIS  WALLACE. 


P  with  the  sun  at  morning, 
Away  to  the  garden  he  hies, 

To  see  if  the  sleepy  blossoms 
Have  begun  to  open  their  eyes. 


LITTLE      FEET.  83 

Running  a  race  with  the  wind, 

With  a  &tcp  as  light  and  fleet, 
Under  my  window  I  hear 

The  patter  of  little  feet. 

This  child  is  our  speaking  picture  ; 

A  birdling  that  chatters  and  sings  ; 
Sometimes  a  sleeping  cherub, — 

Our  other  one  had  wings. 
His  heart  is  a  charmed  casket, 

Full  of  all  that  is  cunning  and  sweet ; 
And  no  harp-strings  hold  such  music 

As  follow  his  twinkling  feet. 

When  the  glory  of  sunset  opens 

The  highway  by  angels  trod, 
And  seems  to  unbar  the  city 

Whose  builder  and  maker  is  God, 
Close  to  the  crystal  portal 

I  see  the  gates  of  pearl, 
The  eyes  of  our  other  angel, 

A  twin-born  little  girl. 

And  I  a.sk  to  IK?  taught  and  directed 

To  guide  his  footsteps  aright, 
So  that  I  be  accounted  worthy 

To  walk  in  sandals  of  l;-;!it, 


84  OUR     LITTLE      ONE. 

And  hear,  amid  songs  of  welcome 
From  messengers  trusty  and  fleet, 

On  the  starry  floor  of  heaven, 
The  patter  of  little  feet. 


PATTERING    FEET    Now     STILL. 


ID  you  ever  see  her, 

The  little  fairy  sprite 
Who  came  glancing  through  our  household 

Like  a  ray  of  golden  light  ? 
"Whose  little  feet  kept  dancing, 

Never  weary,  until  eve 
Threw  its  purple  shadows  o'er  us, 

And  her  good-night  kiss  she  gave  ? 

Did  you  ever  see  her, 

With  her  floating  curls  of  brown, 
As  she  gladly  ran  to  meet  ns 

Coming  from  the  distant  down  ? 


LITTLE      FEET.  85 

As  she  greeted  us  with  kisses, 

'Twas  the  sweetest  welcome  home 
To  hear  her  bird-voice  lisping, 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you've  come  ! " 

Did  you  ever  see  her, 

With  her  eyes  of  azure  blue? 
They  were  sometimes  filled  with  tear-drops, 

Like  a  violet  with  dew  ; 
Oftencr  they  were  laughing,  dancing, 

Shining,  twinkling,  bright  with  joy, 
As  she  told  some  pretty  story 

Of  her  kitten  or  a  toy. 

And  you  did  not  see  her 

When  her  pattering  feet  were  still ; 
When  the  little  hands  were  folded, 

Not  by  their  sweet  owner's  will ; 
When  the  eyes  were  closed  so  gently, 

And  the  curls  of  soft  brown  hair 
By  the  hands  of  friends  were  parted 

From  her  forehead  pure  and  fair? 

And  you  did  not  see  her 

When  they  shut  the  coffin-lid, 
And  our  little  fairy  darling 

From  our  sight  forever  hid  ? 


86  OUR     LITTLE     OXE. 

With  her  going  went  our  sunlight, 
From  our  home  'tis  ever  gone  : 

May  we  sa}-,  with  truth  and  calmness, 
"  Not  my  will,  but  thine,  bo  done  !  " 


VIOLETS    AT    HER   FEET. 


R.    H.    STODDARD. 


V'E  lost  my  little  May  at  last ! 

She  perished  in  the  spring, 
When  earliest  flowers  began  to  bud, 

And  earliest  birds  to  sing  : 
I  laid  her  in  a  country  grave, 

A  rural,  soft  retreat ; 
A  marble  tablet  at  her  head, 

And  violets  at  her  feet. 

I  would  that  she  were  back  again, 
In  all  her  childish  bloom  : 

My  joy  and  hope  have  followed  her, 
My  heart  is  in  the  tomb  ! 


LITTLE     FEET.  87 

I  know  that  she  is  gone  away, 

I  know  that  she  is  fled  ; 
I  miss  her  everywhere,  and  yet 

I  cannot  make  her  dead ! 

I  wake  the  children  up  at  dawn, 

And  say  a  simple  prayer, 
And  draw  them  round  the  morning  meal ; 

But  one  is  wanting  there  ! 
I  see  a  little  chair  apart, 

A  little  pinafore, 
And  memory  fills  the  vacancy, 

As  time  will  —  never  more  ! 

I  sit  within  my  room  and  write, 

The  lone  and  weary  hours, 
And  miss  the  little  maid  again 

Among  the  window  flowers  ; 
And  miss  her  with  the  toys  beside 

My  desk,  in  silent  play  ; 
And  then  I  turn  and  look  for  her, 

But  she  has  flown  away. 

I  drop  my  idle  pen  and  hark, 

Aud  catch  the  faintest  sound  ; 
Sim  must  be  playing  hidc-and-sock 

I;i  shad}'  nooks  around  : 


88 


OUR     LITTLE     ONE. 

She'll  come  and  climb  my  chair  again, 
And  peep  my  shoulder  o'er  ; 

I  hear  a  stifled  laugh,  — but  no, 
She  cometh  never  more  ! 

I  waited  only  yesternight, 

The  evening  service  read, 
And  lingered  for  my  idol's  kiss, 

Before  she  went  to  bed  ; 
Forgetting  she  had  gone  before, 

In  slumbers  soft  and  sweet ; 
A  monument  above  her  head, 

And  violets  at  her  feet ! 


FEET   UPON    MY.  KNEE. 


HEAR  a  shout  of  merriment, 
A  laughing  boy  I  see  ; 

Two  little  feet  the  carpet  press, 
And  bring  the  child  to  me  ; 


LITTLE     FEET.  89 

Two  little  arms  are  round  ray  neck, 

Two  feet  upon  my  knee  : 
How  fall  the  kisses  on  my  cheek  ! 

How  sweet  they  are  to  me  ! 

That  merry  shout  no  more  I  hear  ; 

No  laughing  child  I  see  ; 
No  little  arms  are  round  my  neck, 

Nor  feet  upon  my  knee  ! 
No  kisses  drop  upon  my  cheek  ; 

Those  lips  are  sealed  to  me. 
Dear  Lord,  how  could  I  give  him  up 

To  any  but  to  thee ! 


r> 


EET    ON    THE       ENDEF^ 


my  heart  there  liveth  a  picture 
Of  a  kitchen  rude  and  old, 
Where  the  firelight  tripped  on  the  rafters, 
And  reddened  the  roof's  brown  mould  ; 


OUR     LITTLE      O  N E. 

Gilding  the  steam  from  the  kettle 

That  hummed  on  the  foot-worn  hearth 

Throughout  all  the  livelong  evening, 
In  measure  of  drowsy  mirth. 

Because  of  the  three  slight  shadows 

That  frescoed  that  rude  old  room  ; 
Because  of  the  voices  echoed 

Up  'mid  the  rafter's  gloom  ; 
Because  of  the  feet  on  the  fender,  — 

Six  restless,  white  little  feet,  — 
Tho  thoughts  of  that  dear  old  kitchen 

Are  to  me  so  fresh  and  sweet. 

"\Vhcn  the  first  dash  on  the  window 

Told  of  the  coming  rain, 
Oh !  where  are  the  fair  young  faces 

That  crowded  against  the  pane  ? 
While  bits  of  firelight,  stealing 

Their  dimpled  cheeks  between, 
~VTent  struggling  out  in  the  darkness 

In  threads  of  silver  sheen. 

Two  of  the  feet  grew  weary, 

One  dreary,  dismal  day ; 
And  we  tied  them  with  snow-white  ribbons, 

Leaving  them  there  by  the  way. 


LITTLE     FEKT.  91 

There  was  fresh  clay  on  the  fender, 

That  weary,  wintry  night, 
For  the  four  little  feet  had  tracked  it 

From  his  grave  on  the  brown  hill's  height. 

Oh !  why  on  this  darksome  evening, 

This  evening  of  rain  and  sleet, 
Rest  my  feet  all  alone  on  the  hearthstone  ? 

Oh  !  where  are  those  other  feet  ? 
Are  they  treading  the  pathway  of  virtue, 

That  will  bring  us  together  above  ? 
Or  have  they  made  steps  that  would  dampen 

A  sister's  tireless  love  ? 


ITTLE      PILGRIMS'     FEET. 


tSBcJTTLE  travellers  Zionward, 
Each  one  entering  into  rest 
the  kingdom  of  your  Lord, 
In  the  mansions  of  the  blest ; 


92  OUR     LITTLE      O  X  E. 

There,  to  welcome,  Jesus  waits  ; 

Gives  the  crowns  his  followers  win  : 
Lift  your  heads,  ye  golden  gates ! 

Let  the  little  travellers  in  ! 

AVho  are  they  whose  little  feet, 

Pacing  life's  dark  journey  through, 
Now  have  reached  the  heavenly  seat 

They  had  ever  kept  in  view  ? 
"  I  from  Greenland's  frozen  land  ; " 

"  I  from  India's  sultry  plain  ;  " 
"  I  from  Afric's  burning  sand  ; " 

"  I  from  islands  of  the  main." 

All  our  earthly  journeys  past, 

Every  tear  and  pain  gone  by, 
Here  together  met  at  last, 

At  the  portals  of  the  sky, 
Each  the  welcome  "  come"  awaits, 

Conquerors  over  death  and  sin : 
Lift  your  heads,  ye  golden  gates ! 

Let  the  little  travellers  in  I 


t 


FIRST 


OOTSTEPS. 


WONDROUS  venture  it  must  be, 
My  trembling  little  one,  for  thee 

To  trust  thy  feeble  feet 
Upon  this  hard  old  earth  of  ours  ; 
And  thou  hast  summoned  all  thy  powers 

The  mighty  task  to  meet. 


There's  caution  in  that  look  of  thine, 
And  in  the  hand  that  clings  to  mine 

With  clasp  so  keen  and  small ; 
Yet  thou  wilt  learn  to  jump  and  run 
Through  the  green  meadows  in  the  sun, 

And  ncVer  fear  u  fall. 


96  *  OUR     LITTLE     OAr£. 

These  are  thy  first  faint  steps  in  life, 
And  though  they  seem  with  danger  rife, 

The  peril  is  not  there, 
But  in  thy  after-goings,  child  ; 
For,  oh,  this  world  is  wide  and  wild, 

And  much  more  false  and  fair ! 

I  cannot  tell  what  stranger  shore 
These  timid  feet  may  journey  o'er, 

What  desert  bleak  and  broad  ; 
But  I  can  truly  hope  and  pray 
That  thou  may'st  walk  in  wisdom's  way, 

And  humbly  with  thy  God. 


POING     ALONE. 

T*  * " 

|ITH  curls  in  the  sunny  air  tossing  ; 

With  light  in  the  merry  blue  eyes ; 
With  laughter  so  clearly  outringing, 

A  laugh  of  delight  and  surprise  ; 
All  friendly  assistance  disdaining, 

And  trusting  no  strength  but  its  own ; 
The  past  fears  and  trials  forgotten, — ^ 
The  baby  is  going  alone. 


LITTLE     FOOTSTEPS.  97 

"What  woful  mishaps  have  preceded 

This  day  of  rejoicing  and  pride  ! 
How  often  the  help  that  he  needed 

Has  carelessly  gone  from  his  side  ! 
He  has  fallen  while  reaching  for  sunbeams, 

"Which,  just  as  he  grasped  them,  have  flown  ; 
And  the  tears  of  vexation  have  followed  ; 

But  now  he  is  going  alone. 

And  all  through  his  life  he  will  study 

This  lesson  again  and  again  : 
He  will  carelessly  lean  upon  shadows  ; 

He  will  fall  and  weep  over  the  pain. 
The  hand  whose  fond  clasp  was  the  surest 

Will  coldly  withdraw  from  his  own ; 
The  sunniest  eye  will  be  clouded, 

And  he  will  be  walking  alone. 

He  will  learn  what  a  stern  world  we  live  in  ; 

And  he  may  grow  cold  like  the  rest, 
Just  keeping  a  warm  sunny  welcome 

For  those  who  seem  truest  and  best ; 
Yet,  chastened  and  taugiit  by  past  sorrow, 

And  stronger  and  manlier  grown, 
Nor  trusting  his  all  in  their  keeping, 

Me  learns  to  walk  bravely  alone. 

~      7 


98  OUR     LITTLE     OJV.E. 

And  yet  not  alone,  for  our  Father 

The  faltering  footsteps  will  guide 
Through  all  the  dark  mazes  of  earth-life, 

And  over  the  river's  deep  tide. 
Oh  !  here  is  a  Helper  unfailing, 

A  strength  \ve  can  perfectly  trust, 
When,  all  human  aid  unavailing, 

•'  The  dust  shall  return  unto  dust." 


ON    HER    TOES. 

MKS.  H.  C.  GARDKKK. 

'D  better  believe  she  is  pretty, 
Our  baby,  our  beautiful  girl ! 
"With  her  eyes  full  of  innocent  mischief ; 

"With  her  hair  just  beginning  to  curl ; 
"With  her  tiny  feet  constantly  tripping, 

For  she  is  just  learning  to  walk  ; 
"With  her  lips  full  of  musical  prattle, 
For  she  is  just  learning  to  talk.     ^ 


LITTLE      FOOTSTEPS. 

I  watch  her  sometimes  at  the  window ; 

She  stands  on  the  tips  of  her  toes  ; 
Outside  you  can  see  her  eyes  sparkle, 

And  the  end  of  her  little  pug  nose. 
She  mimics  the  dog's  solemn  bow-wow  ; 

She  catches  up  every  light  word ; 
She  mews,  and  she  crows,  and  she  whistles 

As  shrill  as  a  wild  forest-bird. 

Only  just  a  year  old  is  our  baby  ; 

So  pure  and  so  happy  is  she, 
That  we  long  to  enchant  her  and  keep  her 

Forever  as  young  and  as  free. 
But  we  might  as  well  prison  the  sunshine, 

Or  stay  the  sweet  growth  of  the  flowers, 
Or  bind  up  the  spray  of  the  fountain, 

Or  fetter  the  swift-flying  hours. 

God  gave  her,  our  beautiful  baby  ! 

He  made  her  so  sweet  and  so  pure  ; 
He  gave  her  the  undying  spirit 

That  will  to  all  ages  endure. 
God  keep  her  !     May  Israel's  Shepherd, 

Who  carries  the  lambs  in  his  breast, 
Be  near  her  in  joy  and  in  sorrow, 
y     And  guide  her  safe  home  to  his  rest. 


100  OUR     LITTLE     ONE. 


LEARNING    TO    WALK. 


NLY  beginning  the  journey ; 

Many  a  mile  to  go : 
Little  feet,  how  they  patter, 

"Wandering  to  and  fro. 

Trying  again  so  bravely ; 

Laughing  in  baby  glee  ; 
Hiding  its  face  in  mother's  lap  : 

Proud  as  a  baby  can  be. 

Talking  the  oddest  language 

Ever  before  was  heard  ; 
But  mother  —  you'll  hardly  think  so — 

Understands  every  word. 

Tottering  now  and  falling  ; 

Eyes  that  are  going  to  cry : 
Kisses  and  plenty  of  love-words  ; 

Willing  again  to  try. 

Father  of  all,  oh  guide  them, 

The  pattering  little  feet, 
"While  they  are  treading  the  up-hill  road, 

Braving  the  dust  and  heat ! 


LITTLE     FOOTSTEPS,  101 

Aid  them  when  they  grow  weary, 

Keep  them  in  pathways  blest ; 
And  when  the  journey's  ended, 

Saviour,  oh  give  them  rest ! 


EAR    FOOTSTEPS. 


KOWAKU  P.  hOWKLL. 


'> 
IIERUBS  of  this  world  of  changes, 


Sweetly  budding  charms  of  time  ; 
Love's  true  alchemists  of  gladness, 
Turning  tasks  to  golden  rhyme  ! 
Music  like  the  brooklet's  babble 

Round  the  shining  stepping-stones, 
Your  dear  footsteps'  soothing  patter 
Mingles  with  your  gleeful  tones. 

Rays  of  brighter  realms  beam  ever 
In  the  homes  where  children  dwell, 

Lighting  up  the  genial  ho.irth-stoncs 
\Vil!i  A  joy  no  heart  can  tell ! 


102  OUR     LITTLE     O  X  E. 

Oh !  these  babes  of  blessing  lead  us 
By  the  hand  to  hallowed  scenes, 

Even  as  our  Saviour  taught  them  ; 
And  we're  blest  by  these  mild  means. 

Heavenly  Father,  teach  our  conscience 

Well  to  weigh  thy  gifts  of  grace, 
That  our  feet  may  falter  never, 

While  we  haste  to  seek  thy  face  : 
With  these  dear  and  guileless  children, 

Walking  trustful  at  our  side, 
Lead  us,  Lord,  the  way  of  wisdom, 

Up  to  where  thou  dost  abide. 


FAIRY   FOOTSTEPS. 


%£&  HE  comes  with  fairy  footsteps  ; 
.  -        Softly  the  echoes  fall ; 

And  her  shadow  plays  like  a  summer  shade 

Across  the  garden  wall. 
The  golden  light  is  dancing  bright 

'Mid  the  mazes  of  her  hair, 
And  her  fair  }roung  locks  are  waving  free 
To  the  wooing  of  the  air. 


LITTLK     FOOTSTEPS.  103 

Like  a  sportive  fawn  she  boundeth 

So  gleefully  along ; 
As  the  wild  young  bird  she  carolleth 

The  burden  of  her  song. 
The  summer  flowers  are  clustering  thick 

Around  her  dancing  feet, 
And  on  her  cheek  the  summer  breeze 

Is  breathing  soft  and  sweet. 

She  comes,  the  spirit  of  our  childhood, 

A  thing  of  mortal  birth, 
Yet  breathing  still  a  breath  of  heaven, 

To  redeem  her  from  the  earth  ; 
She  comes  in  bright-robed  innocence, 

Unsoiled  by  blot  or  blight, 
And  passeth  by  our  wayward  path, 

A  gleam  of  angel  light. 

Oh,  blessed  things  are  children ! 

The  gift  of  heavenly  love  ! 
They  stand  betwixt  our  worldly  hearts 

And  better  things  above  ; 
They  link  us  with  the  spirit-world 

By  purity  and  truth, 
And  keep  our  hearts  still  fresh  and  young 

With  the  presence  of  their  youth. 


104  OUR     LITTLE     OXE. 


rOOTSTEPS     ON     THE       OTAIRS. 


MISS  them  now  —  those  little  feet 

That  used  to  coiue  so  oft ; 
The  little  voice  that  used  to  speak 

So  sweet,  so  silvery  soft. 
And  now,  when  I  am  all  alone, 

Engrossed  in  daily  cares, 
I  listen  —  but  it's  all  in  vain  — 
For  the  "•  footsteps  on  the  stairs." 

For  when  I  read  or  sing  or  play, 

Or  join  in  pleasures  sweet, 
I  seem  to  see  her  glad  and  gay, 

And  I  miss  those  little  feet. 
Oh,  it  is  hard  to  think  she's  gone, 

With  all  her  winning  airs  ! 
To  think  I  never  more  shall  hear 

Her  "  footsteps  on  the  stairs." 

The  golden  curls  still  cluster  round 
That  b:-ow  so  white  and  clenr  ; 

And  on  her  face  so  pale  and  cold, 
I've  shed  full  many  a  tear. 


LITTLE      FOOTSTEPS. 

The  lids  have  drooped  o'er  those  blue  eyes  ; 

Death's  icy  seal  is  theirs  : 
'Tis  he  that  hath  forever  hushed 

Those  "  footsteps  on  the  stairs." 

I  know  her  feet  are  walking  now 

The  shining  streets  of  heaven  ; 
I  know  that  to  that  dear  one's  brow 

A  golden  crown  is  given  : 
I'm  thankful  that  she  is  at  rest,  » 

Safe  from  earth's  sinful  snares  ; 
Yet  still  I  weep,  ami  pause  to  lu\;r 

The  "  footsteps  on  the  stairs." 


1C5 


LITTLE     SHORT     STEPS. 


T.    1!.    AI.OKH   II. 


H,  where  is  our  dainty,  our  darling, 
The  daintiest  darling  of  all  ? 

Where  is  the  voice  on  the  stairway? 
Where  is  the  voice  in  the  hall  ? 


'06  OUR     LITTLE     ONE. 

The  little  short  steps  in  the  entry, 
The  silvery  laugh  in  the  hall  ? 

Where  is  our  dainty,  our  darling, 
The  daintiest  darling  of  all,  — 
Little  Maud? 

The  peaches  are  ripe  in  the  orchard, 

The  apricots  ready  to  fall ; 
And  the  grapes  reach  up  to  the  sunshine 
t     Over  the  garden-wall. 
Oh,  rose-bud  of  women  !  where  are  you  ? 

(She  never  replies  to  our  call !) 
Where  is  our  dainty,  our  darling, 
The  daintiest  darling  of  all,  — 
Little  Maud  ? 


pILYERY     r  OOTFALLS. 


ROM  the  group  of  little  faces 

One  is  gone : 
In  the  old  familiar  places, 

Sad  and  lone, 
Father,  mother,  meek-eyed  brother, 

Sit  and  moan ; 


LITTLE     FOOTSTEPS.  107 

Sit  and  moan  for  one  departed, 

Pure  and  mild, 
Little  Mary,  gentle-hearted, 

Sinless  child  ; 
And,  as  nestling  memories  thicken, 

Griefs  grow  wild. 

Home  once  bright,  how  cold  and  dreary  ! 

Shadows  deep 
Fall  on  forms  and  hearts  a-wcary, 

Eyes  that  weep ; 
Thought  is  in  the  church-yard,  seeking 

One  asleep. 

Still  the  merry  laugh,  deceiving, 

Fills  the  ear ; 
Tiny  arms,  yet  fondly  cleaving, 

Dry  the  tear ; 
Footfalls,  silvery  footfalls  patter 

Far  and  near. 

Ears  instinctive  pause  to  hearken, 

All  in  vain ; 
Days  drag  on,  and  skies  shall  darken 

O'er  with  pain  ; 

But  the  heart  will  find  its  lost  one 
nain. 


108  OUR     LITTLE      ONE. 

From  the  treasured  fire-side  faces 
Here  to-day, 

From  the  tender,  warm  embraces 
Dropped  away, 

Sleeps  she  midst  forgotten  sleepers 
In  the  clay. 


Ah  !  what  weary  numbers  sighing 

To  be  free, 
Little  Mary  ;  would  be  lying 

Low  with  thee, 
Where  no  care  nor  eating  sorrow 

Ere  shall  be. 


Weep  not  when  ye  tell  the  story 

Of  the  dead ; 
'Tis  a  sunbeam  joined  the  glory 

Overhead, 
"For  of  such  sweet  babes  is  heaven/' 

Jesus  said. 


LTTTLE       FOOTSTEPS. 


109 


T 


HE       OOTFALL    NOT       HERE. 


JOHN   PIKRPONT. 

CANNOT  make  him  dead  ! 

Ills  fair,  sunshiny  head 
Is  ever  bounding  round  my  study  chair  ; 

Yet,  when  my  eyes,  now  dim 

"With  tears,  I  turn  to  him, 
The  vision  vanishes  ;  —  he  is  not  there  ! 

I  walk  my  parlor  floor, 

And,  through  the  open  floor, 
I  hear  a  footfall  on  the  chamber  stair ; 

I'm  stepping  toward  the  hall 

To  give  the  boy.  a  call ; 
And  then  bethink  me  that  —  he  is  not  there  ! 

I  thread  the  crowded  street ; 

A  satchelled  lad  I  meet, 
With  the  same  beaming  eyes  and  colored  hair ; 

And,  as  he's  running  by, 

Follow  him  with  my  eye, 
Scarcely  bt-lieving  that  —  he  i*  not  there  ! 


110  OUR     LITTLE      ONE. 

I  know  his  face  is  hid 

Under  the  coffin-lid  ; " 
Closed  are  his  eyes  ;  cold  is  his  forehead  ; 

My  hand  that  marble  felt ; 

O'er  it  in  prayer  I  knelt ; 
Yet  my  heart  whispers  that  —  he  is  not  there  ! 

I  cannot  make  him  dead  ! 

When  passing  by  the  bed 
So  long  watched  over  with  parental  care, 

My  spirit  and  my  eye 

Seek  it  inquiringly, 
Before  the  thought  conies  that — he  is  not  there  ! 

W.hen,  at  the  cool,  gray  break 
Of  day,  from  sleep  I  wake, 

"With  my  first  breathing  of  the  morning  air, 
My  soul  goes  up  with  joy 
To  him  who  gave  my  boy  ; 

Then  comes  the  sad  thought  that  —  he  is  not  there  ! 

"When,  at  the  day's  calm  close, 
Before  we  seek  repose, 

I'm  with  his  mother,  offering  up  our  prayer, 
Whate'er  I  may  be  saying, 

I  am,  in  spirit,  praying 

j 
For  our  boy's  spirit,  though — he  is  not  there  ! 


LITTLE     FOOTSTEPS.  Ill 

Not  there  !     "Where,  then,  is  he? 

The  form  I  used  to  sec 
"Was  but  the  raiment  that  he  used  to  wear  ; 

The  grave,  that  now  doth  press 

Upon  that  cast-off  dress, 
Is  but  his  wardrobe  locked  ;  —  he  is  not  there ! 

He  lives  !     In  all  the  past 

He  lives  ;  nor,  to  the  last, 
Of  seeing  him  again  will  I  despair  ; 

In  dreams  I  see  him  now, 

And,  on  his  angel  brow, 
I  see  it  written,  "  Thou  shalt  see  me  there  ! " 

Yes,  we  all  live  to  God  I 

Father,  thy  chastening  rod 
So  help  us,  thine  afflicted  ones,  to  bear, 

That,  in  the  spirit  land, 

Meeting  at  thy  right  hand, 
'Twill  be  our  heaven  to  find  that  —  he  is  there  I 


OUR     LITTLE     ONE. 


j  READING    THE     GoLDEN      STREETS. 

BERTHA  CARROL. 
1 

'NE  vacant  chair  beside  the  hearth, 

One  happy  circle  riven, 
One  angel  more  in  Paradise, 

One  other  voice  in  heaven. 

Two  little  feet  along  our  street 

Are  missing  morn  and  even  ; 
But  happily  they  tread  to-day 

The  -golden  streets  of  heaven. 

The  childish  hand  has  slipped  from  thine, 

So  closely  clasped  in  praying  ; 
God's  holy  fingers  now  entwine 

And  keep  thy  loved  from  straying. 

Her  simple  heart  shall  know  no  sin, 

Her  eyes  behold  no  sorrow  ; 
God  keepeth  her,  thy  innocent, 

To  meet  thee  on  the  morrow. 


\ 


*  a.  fr.J 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LBflARY  FACILITY 


A     001  113  308     9 


